


Sempre Appassionato

by Suchsmallhands



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Artist Louis, Artists, Boyfriends, Break Up, Classical Music, Comfort/Angst, Dom/sub, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Musician Louis, One Shot, Orchestra, Sad Ending, Soulmates, Symphony - Freeform, Violinist Louis, although this really isn't about twin flames, ha, it's twin flames, sad fic, sorry - Freeform, there's really very little of that, this is your warning, twin flames, very sad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchsmallhands/pseuds/Suchsmallhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a violinist who can't hold back and Harry is a lover who wishes he could.</p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>  <em>That violin existed in a world which Harry knew nothing about. Louis constantly straying and wandering unfailingly into it, into a place Harry couldn't follow. A place Louis wasn't willing to leave, even when looking over his shoulder with all the hardness and confusing, unsure softness in his eyes.</em><br/><em>Some things are not so easy.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sempre Appassionato

**Author's Note:**

> This was written while listening to Here With Me by The Killers, also influenced by Be Still by the Killers. I'd also like to use this section to give praise to a book on ao3 called Piano Breath by Neurtsy. It's a book that influenced my personal investment in my passion and gave me a deeper understanding of it, which was what made this possible, really. I hope it's alright, Neurtsy.

_"No one, not even the rain, has such small hands." -E.E. Cummings_

Harry followed Louis up the steps, feeling his heart beating a little harder as it was. The room tucked into the ceiling of the theater was dark and poorly lit, trash littering the space. He isn't sure what this place is for, the front of the room open with the romantic light of the theater shining through.  
"I didn't know you were so rebellious." Harry whispered, following him as Louis led him through the mess towards the window like opening over the theater.  
"Too busy." He mumbled, kneeling down and quieting as Harry knelt down and peered out the opening. He felt as though this were something a sixteen year old should be doing, sneaking into this room above the huge theater, yet here he was, twenty three and following him faithfully.  
The view was probably something most never saw in their lives, one he never would have seen.  
From the opening, the theater sprawled before them with grandeur, the lights dimming as the orchestra tuned and warmed up on stage. The low light glowed softly over Louis' skin when Harry glanced back at him in awe.  
The room in the ceiling seemed suspended above the entire world, empty other than debris and the beating, too faithful heart he had in his chest.  
"A symphony?" Harry murmured, listening as the strings hummed and droned in an eerie, enticing and alien sound. Small patches of technique rising and falling from the din. The first hint of obscured violins and violas as the spirit of their sound played with their talent, knowing their power and touching at it's edges as the musicians long, vacant notes stayed disciplined and restrained. The runs of notes skittered quietly, testily, before concealing within the others' sound.  
Harry looked back at Louis, watching him listen to the performers. His eyes were attentive, a quiet crease forming in his brow, listening to what all seemed like one mixing sea of sound. He watched Louis and thought about the violin which nearly always seemed tied to his body, surprisingly absent now. He thought about how easily it held his attention away.  
That violin existed in a world which Harry knew nothing about. Louis constantly straying and wandering unfailingly into it, into a place Harry couldn't follow. A place Louis wasn't willing to leave, even when looking over his shoulder with all the hardness and confusing, unsure softness in his eyes.  
Somethings are not so easy.  
Easy was following Louis up here. Easy, watching him now as the warm light glowed in his eyes, illuminating the spirit behind them which watched the musicians as if seeing something from another universe. Easy looking at his fingers, curled over the lip of the opening.  
Fingers. Previously, just a body part. Now, however, he was softened by them. He saw the way Louis' hands moved. When they were on his violin, like they belonged. When they were away, as if still ghosting the afterthought. He held his water bottle with a meticulous sort of curve and spread. He held onto his body with a kind of breaking strength that knew the effect of every fearless amount wavering or unwavering pressure. Fingers that weren't afraid to act, hands that knew boldness. Fingers which knew contrasting amounts of softness and restraint. Restraint which seemed to impregnate and transcend, despite of their degree of softness.  
Harry sometimes felt like those hands were a fire, and that he was always freezing. A melting, burning, untouchable fire. Left untouched, taking all of it's pain and warmth with each, back breaking, feather light finger.  
"I'm surprised you did this... That you had time." Harry spoke, watching Louis as his eyes flickered from the stage to him.  
His heart was unsure of the logic of Louis being here by his side at all, when just yards away was a stage, pinned and untamed under the lights. The sounds from the stage drifted into the back of his thoughts, asking Harry the question of why it wasn't picking Louis up and flying him to the source. Somehow Louis was still here, not there.  
"I wanted to hear this concert..." Louis murmured, "The composer is the same for my audition piece. Thought it might help me play it right, to hear some his others played tonight."  
Always an ulterior motive, it seemed. Harry's thoughts turned on himself, knowing Louis was never all the way home. Pathetic. Louis is. As is he, for following.  
The symphony began to play and Louis was frozen for the first note as the conductor moved.  
The first note was a suspense, one which had the spirit in Louis' eyes on it's feet. A lithe wolf, simultaneously frozen as he listened, and pacing around it's focus, in tandem with the sound. Influenced by it's change.  
If the sound got up and ran, the wolf would run with it, quick and equal in speed. Or perhaps always one step behind.  
Always in orbit. In tandem. A wolf with a brittle piece of string tying it to the sound, a string he could escape if he wanted. It takes a willing participant to be bound. Something Harry wouldn't want to accept.  
The song was in motion, something lively and separate from Harry.  
His skin was in contact with Louis', pressing him against the wall of the tiny box. Louis was of equal, or greater, ferocity. He held back, arms locked around his neck. Harry pulled off his shirt, helping Louis lose his. Some how the music made Harry feel watched, unwelcomed. Watching Louis shrug his off, he barely seemed naked. The music was nothing more than another layer of skin on his.  
Harry's hands moved over his body, lifting him into his lap, gripping his body tightly as if his hands could sink past his ribs and finally make some sort of contact. Maybe a wall could be pushed passed. An invisible one, a door he opened just to find another door.  
His heart settled as Louis pressed against him, legs holding his waist and hips. Shoes and shirts littering the floor with the rest of the useless items.  
His heart soothed and freed in his chest as Louis held him back, lips against his as if a feeling could be felt or transferred through the mouth. Harry sighed against his mouth, forehead pressing against his as he held close to the sea, now turned anchor. The tempest, this was the eye of it. Nothing pulling apart. Nothing slamming together. Nothing disintegrating. Nothing becoming and unbecoming.  
Harmony, as Louis loved him. Loved him in the unrestrained press of his whole body, the movement of it. The way his shoulders and his head would tilt if his heart changed, and Harry could feel it. He could feel the tide of Louis' affection swell as if in his very own chest, felt in the squeeze of his thighs and press of his bum against his lap.  
The music peeked into the hind of Harry's mind, suggesting that Louis was only a reaction to the music. That his body loved his because the symphony was alive right now, that it was moving. That if it stopped, maybe he would too. He didn't allow himself to acknowledge these thoughts. Not now. Louis wasn't an available commodity these days, had never been, and if he were, he still wouldn't be able to take his mind off of him in his lap.  
By the time the music had shifted to a second movement, Louis was kissing slowly and languidly at his mouth. Harry tasted his tongue, taking momentary pauses to touch his face and watch his eyelids move beautifully over his eyes.  
He wanted to be seen by those eyes. He wanted to watch, forever, those eyes see the world and all in it. He wanted to see every different lighting and feeling they had. How a human eye can have the profound effect it does on a person is strange.  
The second movement was quiet enough for Harry to whisper things to him. Things that were sometimes restrained. Who was he, to throw his love at someone who wouldn't receive. Not a willing man, at least. Part of Harry was one way. Another part of him lived in the broken and unbroken murmur of his voice as he told Louis that he loved him.  
He wanted to be someone who was only one way, a singular, whole person. He wasn't, and his heart pulled in different directions with increasing frequencies and strengths the longer he knew Louis.  
"If you get your audition..." Harry murmured, not sure why he was asking. "Will you... will you change?"  
He was already so busy. Already spent the better part of his life in a practice room. One with a lock on it.  
Louis' body became colder, less receptive.  
"If I get the job, I have to leave." He whispered.  
Why hadn't Harry asked this before? Or why Louis hadn't mentioned it before they were half naked in the ceiling of an expensive theater, with the silence of the audience below and the stage before them.  
Some things aren't approached, he supposes. Not until a moment where it seemed reachable for reasons unknown.  
Harry's body became as unreceptive as his.  
He wanted to be angry. Was angry. Also unsurprised and plenty of other things at the same time. Anger is easiest to feel.  
Harry grit his teeth and looked away.  
"Fucking hell." His jaw set. He looked back and was met with eyes cold and full of hardness.  
"Did you expect me to stop for you?" He asked, face somehow both equally searching and completely disregarding of everything in Harry.  
Harry grabbed him and put their mouths together, biting the poison in Louis' words out of his mouth. Louis responded to him, pulling at his hair and letting him bite and pull. His hands were hard. A kind of stupidly and annoyingly, tiringly, Harry doesn't even want to care anymore, hard that had a soft and accepting give in them. A give that made Harry push harder, begging to reach a wall that Louis put up for him. A wall where his hands were hard as stone, void of warmth or acceptance. A place where he could turn back from and leave. A place where he didn't feel understood and misunderstood and completely accepted by him.  
A place where his hands were hard.  
He supposes Louis' hands were hard wired to draw out the sound in every way possible, if it meant striking down on the strings or stroking them with affection and solidarity in the croon of a note. He didn't want to be his violin.  
Maybe he'd be better as his music, something that Louis wouldn't turn away from. Something that would keep him.  
He was angry as he forced Louis' willing body onto the floor, getting on him and holding him so that he couldn't leave. Below the ridge of the opening in the room, the glow of the theater was dimmed low enough that his body was mostly shadows and illuminated ridges and slopes.  
Harry's hands broke into him, leaving marks and scratches as his mouth raked over his stomach. He mouthed at his soft belly, biting at his hips. All the while, Louis' hands followed his curls, fingers reaching for his shoulders and pressing palms against them as if to feel their strength and to love him.  
Harry hands rid his body of his briefs, fingers shaking as he gripped his thighs. He stopped, his body tense with heat and his teeth locked. He pressed his forehead against the plain of his stomach, hands trembling as they gripped his thighs, Louis' legs spread against his body. Those hands holding onto him. Guiding.  
His thoughts flashed to his home, where he lay with him. His head on Louis' chest, those hands moving over him. Not ghosting. Not forcing. Nothing confusing. Just soft hands. Hands that he pet Harry's strong body with, moving in a way that made him feel okay. A way which made him feel looked at and approved of. Louis' eyes were safe. Soft. Simple. The part of Louis that shines like the sun. The part of him that looks at Harry and sees a flower or a ray of light. Rare.  
His thoughts returned with crushing impact, making his hands tremble harder as Louis waited, Harry's head still bowed against his stomach.  
"I fucking hate you." He grit. Louis swallowed, body soft in his hands, putting up no resistance to the strength in them; obedient. He waited for him.  
Harry lifted his head and made his lungs take in more air, making his locked body move. He took him in his mouth and sucked, making his jaw soft and gentle. He listened as Louis hummed and moaned to the music. Harry wanted to silence the music, wanted to make it all leave. Wanted to make sure those moans were for him.  
Harry sucked and moved his fingers in and out of him, taking the reception of his body. Taking the soft, opening warmth of his hole. Taking the asking hardness of his cock in his mouth. Taking any things there were to be given by him.  
He kept going until Louis' hands pulled at him. It took convincing, to gain his attention, Louis' hands speaking to him and saying his name.  
He followed them, letting Louis pull him up and kiss him. He was stilled by his kiss, the heat of anger in his stomach still there as Louis softened his muscles with soft hands and kisses.  
He guided his cock into him, laying against his warm body and hiding his face in his neck.  
He hated him.  
He hated feeling both completely in control of his body and completely useless for it.  
His elbows leaned against the ground around his head as he gripped his hair and fucked into him. He grit his teeth and held his body against him, pressing them together and getting as deep as he could.  
He fucked him hard and angry, wishing he didn't care about the way Louis held back and whimpered in his ear. Wishing he wasn't so _painfully_ aware of his consent, making sure he was alright and that, should he forget to revoke his consent, that he would know he needed to.  
Louis didn't deny him. Gripping him back with every part of his body he could wrap around him.  
He lost his anger somewhere. Before he knew it he was soft again, able to move slower and breath deeper against his body.  
He listened as Louis' jolting whimpers turned to smooth, wavering sighs in his ear. He hated the affection in those moans.  
He used his hand between them, determined to finish last, making Louis grit his teeth and come in his hand. He was going to pull out and come on his stomach, where he could clean it quickly before they sneaked out. Louis stopped him, having him finish inside.  
Harry lay on the floor of that tiny box of a room, Louis laying against him. He breathed slowly, his heart calm as Louis breathed against him. Listening to the music.  
There was no doubt in Harry's mind that he would get the job. He may as well have already gotten it. He felt a betraying pride and happiness that Louis would succeed. That he did succeed, in what he loved.  
He felt a betraying pride in Louis' fingers as they moved mindlessly over his chest, half clothed and quiet. Quiet in a way Harry didn't understand about himself. Didn't understand why he wasn't fighting, leaving, doing anything. Instead of laying in this theater with him, listening to his breath and the way he held it when the music got quieter so that he could here it.  
He felt a betraying warmth in his chest for this room full of trash and empty of anything Harry didn't want. He felt betrayed that this was a place he wanted to stay. A place he wanted to stay even after the audience had left, a place to stay after the symphony had left.  
He wanted to be stone, a stone Louis grew on, a flower or grass dancing with the wind. A stone that the world would move passed forever, one that would outlast the world until he faded away satisfied with what he'd seen. He wanted to be that stone.  
If he was stone, then Louis was rain. Rain that washed out the tiniest creases in the rock, making Harry clean and free. Rain that froze in the crease, neutral to his pain, and forced great divisions and grievous wounds into the stone, pushing open the rock and then melting so that he was empty and indescribable as gravity pulled the water away. Tiny particles and fingers of the healing water sliding longingly over the stone as he flowed away, saying _I love you goodbye._  
Gravity.  
If Harry said he didn't choose for his earth to be in Louis, than he would be lying. He believes it takes a willing participant to be so wholly attached to another being. A moon attached to the earth, an earth that did not orbit around him. An earth that relied on the sun. An earth that, in loving the moon somehow seemed to love the sun in the same breath.  
Nothing fit.  
All these things that Louis loved and Harry couldn't become any of them, not sure if he would even if he could.  
Love is the only thing Harry has or that he can be, the only feeling he knows which is enough. Always going to be enough, even after it had failed to suffice in providing Louis with a reason to stay.  
In laughing at him, in sleeping next to him, in hating him, in leaving, in losing; loving.  
Love him, love him, love him.


End file.
